


After the Fall

by Amatara, laughingpineapple



Series: How I Miss That Bright Sun [1]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hopeful Ending, Implied Past Dale Cooper/Harry Truman, Implied past Dale Cooper/Albert Rosenfield, M/M, Post-Canon, Season/Series 03, Twin Peaks The Return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amatara/pseuds/Amatara, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: This wasn’t how Albert had imagined meeting Cooper again, but at least losing him a second time opened his eyes.





	After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> [Art](http://laughingpinecone.tumblr.com/post/165296782974/happy-birthday-albert-youre-not-alone) by laughingpineapple, fic by Amatara.

*

The only thought he can muster is that he needs to get out. It’s not a useful reaction - exploding in righteous rage might be useful, blurting out one of the countless things he’d imagined saying to Cooper before he waltzed out of Albert’s life again might have been useful - but it _is_ a reaction and a spontaneous one, which is more than what he’s been capable of lately. As for what 'out' is supposed to mean - out of the room, or the Sheriff’s station, or this hellhole of a town, or out of the hellhole that’s become his _life -_ he doesn't have a clue. All he knows is he’s fucking had enough.

No one even seems to notice when he starts to back away. They’re all still staring at the place where Cooper just poofed out of existence like a circus routine gone wrong, possibly waiting for him to reappear sporting a clown’s nose and a bouquet of fake flowers. Albert isn’t holding his breath. Somewhere between Cooper’s lack of reaction to him and the moment he wrapped up his vanishing act, whatever hope Albert carried inside him that Coop was still within his reach flickered and then quietly died. The loss is a gaping void in his chest, and his first instinct is to reach for it, get it back… but no. Not just no but _hell no._ Embrace it and let it ground him instead. It hurts like a motherfucker, sure, but better than this limbo he’s been living in. Better than letting those last scraps of hope consume him until he can literally feel nothing else.

One of the pink girls sees him leave, a flash of sadness crossing her face as if she’s somehow guessed what’s going through his mind. Then the moment ends, and Albert is stumbling for the exit, trying to remember how to breathe.

The cars are still waiting out front when he comes through the door. One of the drivers is perched on the hood, having a smoke, and Albert pushes past him half on autopilot, driven by a sudden need to _move_ , wrestle down the paralysis that held him for so long. “Car key,” he rasps, and holds out his hand. The man blinks, seems about to protest, then takes one look at Albert’s expression and sticks a hand into his back pocket, digging out the keys.

Albert snatches them from him, opens the door and sits, his fingers slipping on the buckle as he fumbles with the belt. He has no idea where to go, just that he has to go _somewhere,_ and for a second, the old fear comes crashing back: make the wrong call, let something slide, and everything will be lost. It’s the same fear that let him pull the trigger on Diane and keep it together afterwards; it’s what made him nod and say he understood after Gordon confessed the secrets he kept. He couldn’t risk his feelings ruining them, not when they were on the home stretch and the thing at stake might be Cooper’s life. But Cooper managed to ruin them all by himself, and the only life left for Albert to screw up now is his own.

He turns the key in the ignition. Breathes in shakily, then out again, and is about to hit the pedal when there’s movement in his peripheral vision. Tammy, rushing outside looking alarmed, and he’s _this_ close to driving off anyway, except the relief in her eyes when she sees him makes him want to kick himself for considering to.

Watching her lips move around his name, a rush of gratitude squeezes his throat. He’s never really let himself consider how much Tammy’s presence anchors him. She’s Bureau, yes, and loyal to Gordon, but untainted in a way the rest of them aren’t. Reminding him, maybe, of someone he used to be. And Tammy, too, signed up for this bullshit based on half-assed facts, which makes two of them, at least.

He doesn’t open the door but he lets down the window, his heart still pounding way too fast. “Don’t say it. Gordon sent you out to get me. Newsflash: I don’t fucking care.”

“No, I… Gordon?” She peers inside, eyes flicking to his death grip on the wheel. “I came because Candie said she’d seen you leave. But I don’t… I thought Gordon was with the others, but now I’m not sure.”

 _Candie_? Albert shakes his head. Leave it to Tammy to know the name of every girl in the room before anyone else has even finished making a head count. Kudos to ‘Candie’, then, for having more empathy than most of the Bureau combined, present company excepted, but that’s not what’s nagging at him now. For some reason it slipped his mind, but the last image burned into his retina was Gordon and Diane walking off with Cooper, like a triplet of Alices off to fucking Wonderland, and then… Then reality shifted around him, hitting him like a hammer as it snapped back into place, and he thinks he saw Gordon afterwards but the details are a blank. Which is fine, because none of this has to be his problem anymore. Let Gordon and Frank hash it out between themselves. As for Tammy…

He swallows, glares out of the window with all of the nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “Wanna hop in? Pretty sure the show’s over in there.”

Tammy frowns, looks across the car to the station’s entrance. Weighing her options, Albert knows. "How about you tell me where you’re planning on going?”

He’s about to tell her he’s as clueless as she is, when it hits him. There is somewhere that makes sense for him to go. Not a place but a person, and now that the thought has seeped into the cracks of his brain, he feels like an idiot for not seeing it before.

“Calhoun’s Memorial Hospital,” he says, and gulps down sudden nervousness. Just because he occasionally kept in touch doesn’t mean his presence will be welcome. But he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t try.

“Hospital?” Tammy’s frown deepens. “Albert, are you ill?”

Looking that bad, huh? But he’s not so delusional to claim that he’s fine now, not even to put Tammy’s mind at ease. “Someone I need to see,” he says vaguely. "Better get in if you want to come.”

The look that’s directed at him might as well have been meant for a damn obstinate witness. But it seems he’s either passed the test, or Tammy has decided she may as well humor an old sod. “All right,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her. “But you’ll let me drive. I don’t understand what happened in there, but something tells me you’re in no state, and the local feds won’t be happy if we end up wrecking their car.”

Albert stares at her, wondering if she’s pulling his leg. She’s been working on her poker face, because damned if he can tell. “Fine,” he mutters, and scrambles out of the car, as much to get this over with as anything else. But she isn’t wrong, and God knows, he’s going to need every lifeline he can find. It’s either that or resign himself to drowning, and he isn’t sure who he’s refusing to give the satisfaction but there’s got to be _some_ one, right?

The drive across town is a jumble of memories, adding to the bad taste in Albert’s mouth. Same goes for the hospital, looming up in front of them like a stack of cardboard boxes that some toddler tried to paint an unconvincing white. The reception desk got modernized, but everything else still looks the same, down to the color of the walls - or the absence of color, more accurately. It makes him and Tammy look almost festive in their uniforms, which feels like the punchline to a joke, if he only knew what there was to laugh about.

Getting the room number takes less than a minute; he’d called Frank to check in on Harry before they set off for Twin Peaks, but hadn’t had the gall to ask. He hadn’t been able to think about Harry in anything but the most general terms. Hadn’t dared to imagine a future beyond finding Cooper. Well, he’s living in one now, so he’d better not waste this one, too.

They ride the elevator in silence, Tammy’s gentle swaying betraying her nerves. Albert, for his part, almost wishes he was back to feeling numb; it’d be easier than this gut-churning anxiety about seeing the one other person who might understand. At the door, he almost has to turn around. His legs feel like jelly, and he keeps remembering snatches of the Palmer case: the cold disappointment in Cooper’s voice, Harry’s fist crashing into his cheek. Then, later, their truce of sorts, and those final few days of too-fragile peace. So long ago, and it still feels like it’s when all of this started - even though it really started years before, if Gordon was telling the truth this time. How much had Cooper known that Albert didn’t? Could Albert have made a difference by knowing more? Not that there’s a point in asking those questions when all the answers are going to do is hurt.

“Want me to come?” Tammy says, a hand brushing his arm. “I can go back downstairs, have a coffee. Or I can come in with you. It’s your call.”

Albert gives her a pained smile. “Definitely go for that coffee if you want to end up in a hospital bed… But yeah. Something I ought to do alone.”

He knocks, once, quietly, compelled by Tammy’s eyes on him, and nods a silent thank-you as she starts to leave. One heartbeat passes, then two, then three, and he’s agonizing over whether to knock again when a weary voice comes drifting out.

“Who’s that?” Long silence, in which Albert gropes for an answer but can’t get the words to leave his mouth. Then, in a slightly stronger tone: “If this is dinner, I’ll pass -”

“What, a Truman turning down food? The world really must be ending.” Albert forces a grin when he opens the door, but falters at the sight of the figure in the bed. The man looks so goddamn fragile and Albert has no right to lay this on him. He ought to pretend that everything’s fine, that he’s just passing through -

Except that would be the same size of lie that Gordon has been telling him for years, allegedly to protect him from whatever plan he and Cooper cooked up… and maybe that’s really what Gordon believes, but it doesn’t fucking make it right.

“Albert!” The way Harry’s face lights up is almost too much to bear. He hasn’t talked to Harry in years, except on the phone. He’d forgotten how the man’s smile always seemed too soft for this world. It made Albert suspicious of him at first; that kind of softness, in Albert’s book, could only belong to hypocrites or fools. But Harry isn’t blind to the horrors of the world. He just found a way to face them without growing calluses on his heart, which makes him a stronger person than Albert will ever be. And if it means some of Albert’s feelings towards him are still tinged with envy, then that’s Albert’s issue to deal with, not his.

“Harry.” He moves towards the side of the bed, checks the IV just to give himself a moment. He can barely breathe through the pounding in his chest. “We keep meeting in hospitals, huh? Wonder what that means.”

“Means life isn’t fair, but what can you do?” Harry’s smile carries a hint of sorrow, but sallow as he looks, his eyes haven’t changed. “But hey… I’ll take a patient ward over a morgue every day. Anyway, my right hook isn’t what it used to be. C’mere.” He gestures at Albert to come closer, holding out his hand. When Albert moves to shake it, warm fingers clasp his forearm instead.

“It’s good to see you,” Albert says, and that’s the truth, at least. Time hasn’t been kind to Harry. It hasn’t been kind to either of them, but they’re still here, and - in Harry’s case especially - that counts for something. “I called Frank the other day. Meant to call you, too, but…” And then his throat closes up and he’s trembling, holding himself up by the side of the mattress while he tries not to lose himself to despair. It’s over. It’s over. Whatever semblance of a life he built for himself, half of it was based on delusions and he can’t imagine going back to it now.

“Hey.” Harry tugs at his arm, his grip surprisingly firm, and it takes almost nothing for Albert’s legs to give out. “ _Jesus_. Here, c’mon, sit down…”

“‘m Fine,” Albert mutters, sagging onto the bed. He can practically feel the warm prickle of tears, but embarrassment is enough to make him shake it off before he can add to the indignity. “I just…” He presses the heel of his palm against his forehead. “God, Harry, I don’t know where to start.”

“It’s Coop. Isn’t it?” There’s something raw in Harry’s tone, but the eyes that search Albert’s face are impossibly gentle. “Something happened to Coop that brought you here.”

“‘Something happened’ is right,” Albert says, wondering if there’s a way to break it gently. He can’t think of any. “He came back.”

“Came back… here?” This time it’s Harry’s turn to blanch. “ _Now_? Where is he? Is he…” His expression goes slack, his head sagging against the pillow. “My God. He’s…”

“Not dead,” Albert blurts. Except he isn’t even sure of that, is he? Not beyond all reasonable doubt. “At least he was alive the last time I saw him, which lasted all of… oh, two minutes? Came back, smooched a girl, gave a speech, then checked himself out again. Didn’t even look at me. Not a fucking glance.”

Harry nods slowly, as if some of that actually made sense to him, but his mouth is a thin, tense line. “Where was it you saw him?”

“Sheriff's station.”

Another nod, less steady this time. “‘Course it was. If I’d known…”

Albert presses his lips together. He could have called Harry, except he’d been too busy being a coward, and a selfish one at that. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, but at least Harry would’ve seen Cooper with his own two eyes instead of having to hear it from Albert, the way Albert had to hear it from him the first time around. “I should have told you,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Who can think straight when it’s about Coop?” Harry shrugs, but his faint, brittle grin says it all. “Any chance he might pass through again?”

“Who knows. He was babbling about how he hoped to see us all in the future, but…” He lets himself trail off.

“But you don’t think so,” Harry says, looking defeated. Pale knuckles close on the bedsheets in his lap. It’s not just Albert who’s been carrying this burden for twenty-five years. Harry did, too, and he deserved better than this.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Albert rasps, the old feeling of helplessness welling up in him again. He remembers raging at Gordon the first time Cooper went missing, Gordon barely moving a muscle throughout; all the times in those early years that he questioned Gordon’s orders, only to capitulate in the end. Until it finally seemed easier not to question at all. “Never mattered a goddamn thing what I thought.” The room is suddenly too small, the despair festering in his gut threatening to choke him, and then the tears arrive, all the pent-up anger and grief and frustration hitting him at once, and it’s just as graceless and ugly as he expected it to be, but he can no more stop it than he can turn back time and stop Cooper from leaving.

He isn’t sure when Harry’s hand finds his back, or how many minutes pass before he risks lifting his head again, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. He feels empty now, and faintly queasy, but some of the weight has lifted from his chest, and despite the spectacle he just made of himself, Harry radiates a quiet empathy that Albert hasn’t had aimed at him in a very long time. “What happened to you, Albert?”

“Dale Cooper happened.” Albert grates out a laugh that tears at his soul almost as much as the crying did. “The Bureau happened. Fucking Blue Rose happened.”

“Blue Rose?” Harry echoes, his voice a question.

“Long story, and not a pretty one.” Also, strictly speaking, classified, but to hell with that; it’s not like Harry to betray a confidence.

Harry rakes a hand through his hair, gives him the faintest of smiles. “Well. I still got two weeks of treatment left. I’ve got all the time in the world right now.”

“So do I,” Albert says, and watches Harry’s eyebrows climb up towards his hairline. But it’s true. At some point during their conversation, he made up his mind - not that he knows when or how, but the certainty rests inside him like a stone and there’s a kind of weight in it that’s a comfort in itself. He thinks of how Gordon might feel about him resigning, not a day after lifting the curtain from his eyes. Of Tammy sitting in the cafeteria, sipping the world’s shittiest coffee waiting for him to return. He’ll have to go down, tell her she can take the car back to the station. Admit that he won’t join her there. It feels unfair sending her back into the fray by herself, but for once Albert can’t let that be an excuse. Maybe he'll see Cooper again and maybe he won't, but either way, it'll be Cooper's call, not his. He's free of it now; some good could still come of that. And maybe, just maybe, he won’t be alone.

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me still believes in an ending for Dale and Albert that's softer than this one, even if it never felt so far away... but first I need to see Albert (and Harry) start to heal, so here we are.


End file.
